Somewhere in our life,
We stain the edges of time,
Left, now, in my mind.
How does it work?
I love the phases of time (one’s life) reflected in the last line.
More stories from TheLateBloom and writers in Poets and other communities.
Everyone is searching for their answers. The answers that will justify how they live. How many times must you change to reflect what you are being shown, rather than accept your own face. What is it that scares you about creating your own destiny? Is it deciding on a path or the lingering fear that you don't have one?
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I may not be making a lot of sense these days...as you can clearly See in my depiction of a maniacal grin...confusion is exuding from the crazed state of my inner core and sanctum.
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Comments (1)
I love the phases of time (one’s life) reflected in the last line.